


Hotel Hellfire

by SpuffyCarrie



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 14:58:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18606862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpuffyCarrie/pseuds/SpuffyCarrie
Summary: Buffy and Spike decide to run a hotel together following Spike’s return and their reunion. Married now, Spike is coerced into co-running the business and is none too pleased about it. It’s unlikely the joint venture into business will survive with Spike barely at the helm, heckling the staff and half-drunk most of the time.





	Hotel Hellfire

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on British 1970’s comedy series, Fawlty Towers, this is a comedy one shot based post BtVS S7/ Post AtS, Not Fade Away, mainly disregarding comic canon. This is a gift to readers to celebrate my four-year ‘site-versary’ at Elysian Fields.
> 
> My beautiful banner is by Fancyflautist and my beta is the awesome badwolfjedi, thank you to you both. I have fiddled a bit with it after it was beta’d so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Who in their right mind would put Spike in charge of a hotel?

[](https://imgur.com/YgjAsQ6)

A deep fog enveloped the impressive brick building, misty fingers writhing around the place at the top of the city of Edinburgh on a steep incline. If one were to stand outside and disregard the heavy rain battering against the black tiled frontage, they might see the barest corner of the historic castle overlooking the city down below. The hotel’s polished copper sign placed neatly by the door gave it the moniker of hotel Hellfire. It had been carelessly attached to the wall, the sign swung downwards, left blowing in the high Scottish winds, held on barely by one screw as it screeched back and forth in the gale.

Once through the revolving door, a guest would find the interior decorated in nineteenth century Victorian style with green and gold Fleur de Lys wallpaper adorning one wall up to mahogany picture rails. Polished dark wooden chairs are set in cosy nooks in the salon entrance, with tiffany lamps creating a warm and comfortable glow. Other walls were ensconced in impressive teak wood panelling, the golden and honeyed hues in the woodgrain lit up by the flicker of firelight from an engraved stone chimney breast. The sunlit windows might hoodwink you, as light came through them in a way the moon might peer through the slats of an antiquated house in the American boondocks, with almost imperceptible beams of light entering the room. Books of Victorian poetry and literature filled a large bookcase, all colour co-ordinated. The room was overall pleasing to the eye. In contrast, the reception desk was brightly lit and welcoming in the low lighting of the foyer, inviting, though unstaffed at this moment.

It was this very scene which Buffy fell in love with six months before when she and Spike had visited the hotel on their honeymoon. The place had been up for sale and Buffy, fed up with the life of a Slayer, decided almost instantly she didn't want her life to be only slaying and fancied she might like to try her hand at becoming a hotelier.  There were thousands of slayers now and she had no need to worry about them, because that was what the new model Council was for. She would always be on hand to give out advice or assistance when required but she didn’t want it to be her whole life, she wanted to live a better life with her new husband and was at least in the same city if they needed her.

It was in the very same foyer, months later, Spike found himself sighing with boredom. He fiddled with some papers and idly clicked the buttons on the computer, still not quite sure what he was doing with the technology. A list of bookings flashed before him and he grinned, then the page swiftly dispersed leaving a blank, blue screen. “Shit.” He muttered furrowing his brow before moving quickly towards the salon to ruffle some scatter cushions, just in case anyone else came to the reception desk, noticed the glitch and blamed him for fucking it up. He swaggered to the bar and threw back a large scotch, even though it was only eight AM, swiftly hiding the empty glass under the counter, grabbing a cloth and polishing the bar top as he heard someone coming down the ornately carved staircase opposite.

Buffy rushed into the foyer with some clean linen looking stressed as she headed to finish off the last of the ground floor bedrooms before their first guests arrived. She spotted a family parking up in an RV and called back to Spike. "Honey, the first guests have arrived, can you go get their bags?"

"Yeah, cause I decided to run a hotel so I could do the bloody donkey work myself." Spike muttered insolently under his breath.

"What was that, sweetie?" Buffy’s tone was dripping with sarcasm.

He knew she’d heard him and swiftly changed tack, he beamed a one-hundred-watt smile at his wife, "It would be a bloody pleasure, love!” then added “Can't wait!" through gritted teeth as he kicked the back of a sleeping Clem's chair. The demon had passed out right beside the fire. "Wake up, you lazy tosser!" 

Clem stretched and let out a yawn, cracking his neck. "Me and Buffy were up till dawn finishing the rooms, boss, give a guy a break." 

Spike pointed to his chest, feeling a tiny pang of guilt, as he himself had spent the early hours dozing in Clem’s exact place. "I'm the manager," then he pointed to Clem, "You signed on to be the bellboy, mate, and that doesn’t involve sleeping in full view of the guests with drool running from your gob! Now go and get the guests bags."

“Oh, man! But Buffy said I was Assistant Manager?” Clem protested in a whiny voice.

“Yeah, exactly mate, general dogsbody innit?” Spike said gleefully, sneaking another snifter before the first guests arrived, this time, a quadruple finger worth, knocked back in record time.

...….

A few minutes later Spike was at the reception desk, fiddling with the computer which was still blue and now begun to look like it was having a total breakdown. He hated that he hadn’t a clue how to work the damned thing and ended up giving the last couple who’d arrived a set of keys to a room he couldn’t be certain was theirs. Yep, Buffy was going to kill him if this all went tits up.

“Welcome to Hellfire,” he plastered his best grin on his face as a couple of demons slobbered their way over with a little one in tow, he assumed this was their kid, but you could never be certain with demons, it might be their sodding grandma, “How may I help you?” See, this was easy enough, he could play at being polite when he wanted to.

“Oh my, what a lovely welcome, isn’t this a lovely welcome, Burt?” One of the creatures asked the other, placing her slimy hand upon Spike’s, “Oh, and this place, it’s just absolutely adorable.” The demon spoke in an American accent and clutched her red and gold purse as she stared around in awe. Burt looked about as excited at their presence there as Spike felt. 

“We aim to please.” Spike drawled, pulling his hand out from under the demons in the politest way possible, even though he wanted to slap it away. He wiped the residual slime on his jeans. He’d told Buffy he wouldn’t compromise, that he’d wear black jeans or no bloody pants at all. She wanted him to wear a white shirt and black tie and again was informed he’d wear nothing other than a smart black or red shirt and no tie, under no circumstances was he dressing like a pissing undertaker. Buffy had pouted and sighed but let him get on with it, no-one was getting him in sodding penguin suit, not even his precious Buffy and his wife now knew to fight the battles with him she knew she could win, this wasn’t one of them.

Passing some key to the demon family he pointed them towards the elevator and watched Clem fall in behind them loaded up like a pack horse. Spike chuckled as he watched his mate get stuck in the elevator doors and walked over to give him a shove inside by booting him in his butt.

He was heading back to the bar with his eye on a bottle of Jack, when he heard a ruckus was coming from the kitchen down the hall. Sensing Buffy was in trouble by the pitch of her voice, he headed right there and pushed through the swinging double doors into the kitchen to find Buffy in verbal battle mode with the chef.

"I won’t work here anymore, I'm on strike! No! I'm leaving and you can't stop me! This place is full of crazy people and weird creatures, I saw two t-things eating raw sausages in my kitchen! Guests can’t just wander into the kitchen, it’s against the rules set by environmental health! I know they hadn’t washed their hands and I can’t even tell you what this stuff is?” She pointed to some green goo dripping off the highly polished stainless-steel counter onto the floor. “And what's wrong with the bellboy’s skin? That just isn’t normal!"

“Clem isn’t the bellboy, he’s the assistant manager.” Buffy offered weakly in his defence.

This angered Spike, the poor git couldn’t do anything about his skin, he was a fine specimen of a loose skinned demon, he’d seen much worse. He growled lowly as the portly woman carried on, not noticing his presence.

"But it's unnatural and I won't put up with it I tell you! I went to catering college in Oxford!" The chef spoke in a tinkling Scottish accent, much like Professor McGonagall in Harry Potter; yes, he’d read the books! And it was beyond a doubt his favourite character was he who should not be named, even if he was a spineless wanker.

"But please, Mrs Patrick, you can't leave on the first day, there's lunch to prepare, how can you expect us to replace our head chef at such short notice?"

His wife was in tears, almost begging her to stay and the old bag was shrieking at her like a wailing banshee. Buffy had worked so hard to get things ready, he wasn't going to have anyone ruin it for her. "Oi! What the buggering fuck is going on in here? We've got guests out there who are expecting a relaxin' lunch and here you are, bawling at my wife!"

"I told your wife,” she glowered at him as if to say, and don’t think I don’t know about you, mister, “I won't put up with it! These creatures are not normal, and I won’t have them invading my kitchen to eat raw meat!"

"Sling your hook then, you old baggage." The answer was simple to him.

"Pardon me?" Mrs Patrick asked, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Spike gritted his teeth and clicked his jaw, not sure what part of that she couldn’t understand. "I said—if you don't wanna work here then sling your bloody hook."

"Spike!" Buffy pulled hard at his sleeve, trying to get his attention, but his hackles were up, he was focussed on the old bird and he ignored her.

"Well, I've never been treated in such a way in my life! I went to catering college in Oxford, you know, I've worked in a Michelin star restaurant!" The chef complained, pointing at herself.

“Yeah, as a dishwasher I’d wager!” He replied, rolling his eyes.

"Spike, please!" Buffy interjected.

"Look, I don't care if you served vol-au-vents to the queen soddin' mother on her death bed, just do one." 

The older woman shot him a nasty look, picked up her bags and threw her keys on the counter before storming out in a huff.

"Nice going, honey, I thought at least we might get through the first day without firing someone! What are we going to do now? I can't cook and it took days to interview for staff, I'll call the agency and ask them to send someone over." Buffy passed him the chef’s hat. "In the meantime, you can get on with preparing lunch." She kissed his cheek with a smug grin, turning heel and heading back to reception.

He cricked his neck, grinding his teeth before muttering, "Bollocks!” He slammed the hat on the counter and headed to the swinging doors, yelling, “Cleeeem!" If anyone was going to cook these bastard’s lunch, it wouldn't be him. He looked at the huge salmon laying on its side peering at him with a milky dead eye. "And you can fuck off too!"

Running a hotel had seemed like a brilliant idea in theory, but as the grand opening got nearer, he began to get cold feet. Buffy had invested so much time in this venture, he really didn't want to break it to her, so he just went along with it. In the beginning he could see himself as the boss, prancing around and telling the staff what to do, but the reality was far from the fantasy and it was bloody hard work! Not that he was a slacker, but he'd much prefer getting out and bashing demon heads together, not serving them high tea and sodding cream scones.

Buffy had decided she wanted to do something with the lump sum the council had given her when she'd finally decided she wanted another life away from them and the baby slayers. She hadn't retired per se, just decided she wanted to do something different. They'd been married six months, that was ten months after he'd walked out of the alley, shocked he was still on this plane. The first thing he'd done was call Buffy and arrange to meet her in Rome. After many tears on both their parts and a lot of berating from Buffy over why he didn't contact her when he first returned, he'd taken her to bed and they'd never been apart since. Who’d have known it could be that easy? That Buffy would allow him back into the fold right away and cry hot tears over his return, telling him she’d missed him, and she’d never stopped loving him. He found she’d meant what she’d said down in the cave before he told her to leave and she’d touched the scars on her hand every day to remind her of him while he was gone. He wasn’t sure for a long time how he felt about that, but he knew he felt an utter ponce for leaving her alone like that once he knew she’d pined for him as much as he had for her. They'd talked of course, talked till he thought his tongue might fall out, but somehow it seemed this was their time and they just fit like they’d never had before, like they’d never been apart. Buffy didn't give a hoot about what anyone else thought and he'd been surprised by the change in her. She no longer took any shit from anyone. That, unfortunately, didn't exclude him. 

"Spike! Lunch is served in two hours!" She called back through the door like a general in the British Army. 

He gritted his teeth, picked up a knife and stabbed the fish right in the eye.

......….

Clem was beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake. Spike was a good friend, but as a boss, he treated his staff like he undoubtedly treated his minions in the past, slave labour. Buffy was lovely and they worked well as a team, getting the hotel ready for the grand opening and the fear he once felt in her presence was long gone. Being in a new country was hard too, the demon community was extensive, but he could hardly understand what most of them said. Still, he’d met another of his kind called Elspeth and had fallen in love with her almost immediately, he had a date with her that night and couldn’t wait to see her. He just wondered if he could keep his eyes open that long.

As he left the upper floor, exhausted from bringing up some bags for the latest arrivals, he heard a scream. Running to where the sound came from, he began pounding on the door of room, hearing the shrieks escalate as his meaty fist rocked the door on its hinges.

The door was thrown open and Clem looked up into the eyes of a finger eating demon, who was at least two feet taller than him. The demon raised an eyebrow, “Yes?”

Clem noticed a female jumping up and down on the bed whooping with laughter and she called over, “Henry? What’s the problem? What does this guy want?”

He took a step back and shook his head, realising he wasn’t back in Sunnydale now and these demons were just enjoying themselves. “We hope you’re having a wonderful stay, is there anything I can get for you?”

The demon eyed him before turning to his partner with a shrug.

Her eyes glittered as she said, “A bottle of their best Champagne, baby.” She went back to her bouncing and yelling.

The finger eating demon nodded and repeated, “A bottle of Champagne for the lady.”

“Yes, sir, on the house.” Clem replied as the door was shut in his face and the female demon continued her shrieking from within. He headed down the stairs, shaking his head sadly while knowing he’d probably need to pay for the expensive wine out of his pay check unless he told Buffy about the embarrassing situation. So much for thinking someone was hurt, this wasn’t Sunnydale, and somehow, he wished working here was just as easy. You can take the demon out of Sunnydale but not Sunnydale out of the demon it seemed.

………………………………

Buffy ushered the guests into the dining room for lunch and found her carefully planned a la carte lunch menus replaced by hastily scrawled hand-written notes, each with ink blots on the paper. Spike! She grabbed a copy and headed for the kitchen, to find Spike dolling out chicken and chips onto plates with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“Spike! What is this? This is not mulligatawny soup, followed by salmon en croute! This is—what is that?” She peered over Spike’s shoulder as he loaded up the next plate, ash dropping from his fag onto the edge of the plate, which he hastily wiped away with a cloth. Buffy thought he looked quite professional apart from the fact he shouldn’t be smoking in the building, let alone the kitchen.

“Err, well, that’s Poulet et frites, a delicacy, it is.” He said proudly, holding the plate up for her perusal.

She watched as grease ran over the carefully chosen white bone china and looked in horror to the fast food cartons littering the kitchen. “Even I know that means chicken and chips in French!”

“Well, yeah, I got it from the chicken shop up the road.” He said with a shit eating grin, like he’d answered all their problems in one foul swoop.

“Spike, we promised people an a la carte menu, we passed an inspection by the Scottish Environmental Health people, how can you think this is right? We don’t know how hygienic their take-out is, our guests could get sick!”

“Look, they aren’t people, they’re demons, and I know demons, pet, they think they’re getting’ top notch grub for their dollar, an’ they’ll be happier than a dog lickin’ its own bollocks.”

“Eww, Spike, too much information.” She held her palm up for him to stop and wrinkled her nose. “We don’t have much choice, do we? You’ll have to serve it now, it’s too late to cook something better, just remember to wipe the grease from the plates and put out that goddam cigarette! We’ll be talking about you quitting later, you promised!”

“You watch, love, they are gonna love it!” He ignored her comments about the fags and put out the butt in a stray carton, winked and blew her a kiss.

Buffy watched as Spike picked up two plates and headed through the double swinging doors into the restaurant. She placed her head in her hands and groaned, this was going to be their ruin before they’d even started.

………………………………………

Spike walked through the doors with the plates held high in both hands, sashaying towards the first table like a professional waiter. The dining room was filled with hungry demons who, he knew were not at all interested in the food the hotel was providing. They were all there to think they were posh and brag they’d eaten at the Slayer’s hotel. Yeah, they’d eat the food, but they had no clue about fine dining, it was like the Brits trying to take PG Tips and Marmite in their luggage, so they didn’t have to go without a decent cuppa and their favourite breakfast while they were abroad. He could serve them Fois Gras and they wouldn’t know the difference between that and steak and chips. He guessed by the heavy bags they were all carrying when they arrived, that their mini bars were by now stuffed with their food of choice. They’d go through the motions in the dining room and then head up for afters in the privacy of their rooms, this was one thing Buffy hadn’t planned for.

He and Buffy had agreed that vamps would only be allowed if they had a known guarantor, such as Spike, Buffy, or someone who knew them well and could give assurance that they weren’t going to go out and kill half of Edinburgh. Vamps would be easier if they bagged it, but alas, many wouldn’t do that, even under the Slayers nose or in a hotel co-owned by William the Bloody, so he hadn’t spotted any arrive, yet.

“This is the finest food you will ever get in this city, I’ll tell you right now, if you don’t like it, the Slayer will want to know why.” He announced with a smirk.

The room hushed, a few looking at each other fearfully before a four-armed yellow demon began to clap his tentacles, followed by his mother and siblings, the rest of the demons followed with a roar of satisfaction, banging their cutlery on the tables as they awaited their own meals.

When Spike came back through the doors to the kitchen, he was triumphant. Every single demon was calling out for his meal and the dining room was in chaos as they waited for their own dishes.

“Spike, what the hell did you say?” Buffy nibbled on her lower lip, god, it made him want to take her and snog her over the dessert course, deep fried mars bars.

“Does it matter, pet? They want the food and if you ordered the same every night for a week, they’d eat it.”

“But I wanted our restaurant to be more than a Chuck E. Cheese! I wanted to get one of those Mich star things and have a chef like Gordon Ramsey.” She pouted.

He moved to take her into his arms and kissed her gently on the forehead. “My sweet Buffy, we’ll make shit loads of money, sellin’ cheap food to demon holidaymakers who want to see the sights. Trust me, they don’t care about the crap we serve up to them, they won’t eat it anyway. They like the danger, they want to tell a tale about meeting the Slayer face to face, you’re a hit, princess, the hotel is full to capacity.”

Buffy took a step back and looked him square in the eye, “Am I gonna need to patrol?”

“Nah, all you’ll need to do is keep ‘em happy, love. Come on now, foods getting’ cold.”

Buffy pouted but she knew Spike was right. If there was one thing her husband knew about, it was demons. Everything seemed to be in hand so she thought she might sneak off and take a nap, but Spike shoved some plates into her hands and guided her through the doors.

“They want to see your beautiful face, sweetheart, why wouldn’t they? You’re perfect.”

“Spike, you are so going to get it later!” She glowered.

“Can’t wait.” Spike bit his lower lip and smacked her butt as he pushed her through the kitchen doors to meet her admirers. He smiled once he heard a round of applause for his lovely wife on the other side of the doors.

Sitting on the counter, he sparked up a fag and opened a bottle of cooking sherry to take a deep dram, “You know, mate, I quite like this gig.” He said to the salmon with a knife in its eye. As predicted, it didn’t reply.


End file.
